He turns, and my body begs me to make him stay. But I can’t let my primal needs call the shots tonight.
Still, I call out to him. “And Lincoln?”
He spins around, his eyes eager and optimistic. Like he’s hoping I’ve changed my mind.
I’m so close to giving in. But I shut my eyes and suck in a breath for strength. “Thanks for the dance.”
He smiles softly. “It was my pleasure.”
I gently close the door.
19
JULES
Flash forward to the weekend, and I feel like Lincoln and I are back to tiptoeing around each other.
Things heated up way more than expected on our date the other night. Now, it feels tricky, finding the middle ground.
How much affection do we display for the public? Where do we draw the line with PDA before our bodies start getting carried away? We’re still trying to figure out the right balance.
Tonight is family dinner at Great Grandma’s. We pull onto the long, tree-lined driveway leading to her secluded mansion, and my heart is pounding in my throat.
Cameron sits in the backseat in his little button-up shirt, looking like Lincoln’s mini-me. “Wo-o-o-o-w! This place is so cool…” He has his face pressed to his window as we drive along.
Lincoln chuckles. “Agreed, Buddy. I’d bet it’s even cooler on the inside. Remember what we talked about?”
Cameron nods dutifully. “Be on my best behavior. No running. Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. And use my inside voice. Like a gentleman.”
His father nods proudly. “You’ve got it.”
Lincoln cuts his engine behind one of my cousins’ fancy sports cars parked on the circular drive. He angles his body to face me.
“You ready?” he asks, those blue eyes sharp and intense beneath his thick, furrowed eyebrows.
I slip my hand into my leather purse and graze my fingers over the marriage contract, just to refocus on why this dinner matters. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I manage to croak out.
Lincoln hesitates for a moment. He throws a glance at Cameron in the backseat. Then, he brings his attention back to me, pulling something out of the breast pocket of his wool coat. My eyebrows quirk upward when he flips open the ring box he’s holding.
I see a small oval precious stone in the palest shade of pink. Despite the swirly floral patterns etched into the simple rose-gold band, the ring is far from flashy and showy, and there’s something so sweet and genuine about the vintage design.
“It’s beautiful…” I say before I can catch myself.
I don’t do pink. I never have. But this ring steals my breath away.
“We can’t have you walking around with that cheap, fake ring anymore.” He chuckles quietly. He sits straighter and clears his throat. “Can I?”
A tingle blooms in my stomach when he gallantly reaches for my hand. I nod, laying my palm in his.
Lincoln jimmies the cheap ring off my finger, carefully replacing it with the pink stone. My left lung climbs into my throat as we both sit there, admiring the way the gorgeous gem looks on my tattooed hand.
“I was about to just order a replacement ring from a jeweler online,” he says quietly. “But something drew me to the antique store in town. I saw this one—feminine…delicate…precious—and it instantly made me think of you.”
“Me…?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
Lincoln nods reverently.“The shop owner told me that the naturally-occurring pink diamond is considered one of the rarest diamonds to exist.” His eyes peek up to mine with hesitation. “I’d say you’re pretty darn rare, too, Jules.”
I glance down at the ring again. Feminine. Delicate. Precious. Rare.
